Winter Wonderland
by rabidcrazygirl
Summary: John and Monica. On a case. Very cold. Total DRR fluff, through and through.


**It is a sad, sad fact that there is simply not enough DRR being written. So I decided to write yet another fluffy DRR fic. Go ahead! Read! Enjoy! Unless, of course, you are inhuman and do not enjoy fluff. If that is the case, run for the hills.**

**Disclaimer: I refuse to disclaim. That would be a insult to your intelligence. You know perfectly well that I am not Chris Carter or Robert Patrick or Annabeth Gish. I am just a little nobody who wants to play.**

"Now I remember why I moved south." Special Agent John Doggett shivered as a gust of cold wind blew his long black jacket around his legs. "It's so _cold_ up here!"

"We n-n-never had winters like th-this in New Orleans," chattered his partner, Special Agent Monica Reyes, hugging her coat around herself. John grinned, blue eyes squinted shut against the fierce wind that hurled snow into his face. The icy color of his eyes stood out clearly against the white glittering expanses of ice and snow that surrounded the two.

"We'll get inside soon, Mon," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. A strand of her dark brown hair flew up into his face, caressing his cheeks and leaving a subtle scent that lingered for several seconds—raspberries and vanilla? John felt frozen and bewildered, disoriented by the sudden attack of Monica's hair.

"John? You okay?" His partner's voice shook him out of his thoughts. "The ranger over there is beckoning to us. We'd better go talk to him before we freeze to death." The man nodded mutely and the pair began the long, cold walk across the open, snow-covered meadow.

Monica couldn't admit it to anyone else (she could barely manage to admit it to herself), but the real reason why she'd pointed out the Park Ranger was that her partner's proximity was making her shiver deliciously in a way that she could neither attribute to the cold or hide.

John's mind was whirling, tying to ignore that damn smell that was still lingering about him—or was it all in his head? It didn't matter. In his head or not, it was still throwing him off. He resolved to do his best to build up better defenses against his partner's heartless siege until they were off this case and back in DC. Then he could smell her all he wanted.

Two hours, a couple of unknown tracks ("Them's tracks that look like bear," the ranger had said, "but they ain't. I ain't seen nuthin' like it in all my life."), and several numbed fingers later, John and Monica stumbled in the door of the ski lodge where the Bureau was putting them up. Both breathed a sigh of happy relief as they were swamped with warm aid. The woman sitting at the reception desk looked up at them and snapped her gum.

"Y'all the FBI agents?" she asked. John and Monica nodded, each too busy reveling in the warmth to speak. The receptionist smiled slightly. "I had Jack move your bags up to your rooms." She handed each of them a plastic key card. "You're in room 276," she told John, giving him a look that could only be described as flirtatious. The man was too busy fumbling off his ice-encrusted gloves to notice, but Monica bristled. "And here's your key, ma'am," the receptionist continued without taking her eyes off of John, handing Monica the card to room 289.

"There's a fire in the lounge," she said, smiling fixedly at the male agent. "And there's a continental breakfast starting at 7:30." The receptionist laid a hand on John's arm. "If you need anything," she murmured, "just give me a call. I'm on this floor, right over there." She gestured over to a closed wooden door on the far side of the lobby. "I'll be here _all night_."

He couldn't miss her implication this time. John raised startled blue eyes to look at the woman. "Thank you…" he glanced at her nametag, "Marie. Um…"

Monica grabbed his arm. "Come on, _Agent Doggett_," she said, yanking a little with each word. "We've got a case report to work on."

The relief that flooded John at this opportunity for escape was almost as great as that that he had felt upon entering the warm building. "She's right," he shrugged. "I've gotta go work on that report. Can't have the AD worryin'."

Marie didn't seem that crestfallen. "Alright," she said. "But if you need anything, I'm right here." She winked and Monica dragged John away.

The pair walked in silence along the empty halls until they came to the place where Monica had to turn to go to her room. "'Night, John," she said, smiling at him.

"Wait—" John said, suddenly feeling desperate. "Don't you wanna get some dinner or somethin'?"

Monica laughed softly, shaking back her hair, and John saw the dark circles under her beautiful eyes. "Right now, all I want to do is to take a long, hot shower and crawl into bed," she told him. "But I'll see you in the morning, okay?" Her partner nodded. "'Kay. Goodnight."

John stood for several seconds watching Monica walk quietly down the hall. Then he blinked, giving himself a mental shake, and began to search for his room.

XXx

Monica stared upwards, lying flat on her back on the hotel bed and thinking about her parting with John, three hours previously. For some reason, she felt wide awake. _That's strange,_ she thought. _I was practically dead on my feet when I was in the shower._ Rubbing her eyes, she flopped over onto her stomach with a sigh. _What am I doing?_ She silently questioned herself. _I'm alone, halfway through my thirties, and my entire life is my work. I'm horribly in love with my partner who has no idea of my feelings, my job is uncovering an immense government conspiracy and I'm a complete mess._

_I wonder if this is how Scully felt?_ She wondered. _All alone with the weight of the world on her shoulders? If it is, I don't envy her eight years on the X-files._

Monica glanced at the clock, seeing the neon-green numbers that proclaimed it to be 1:26 in the morning, and sat up, damp hair brushing her cheeks. The bleak, impersonal darkness seemed to be closing in on her and she suddenly felt overheated. _I've got to get out of this room,_ she thought, standing and beginning to search for the robe that she'd thankfully remembered to pack. After donning the garment, she began to search for her slippers, which, she found, were probably still lying under her bed back in DC. _Damn,_ she thought, sliding on the snow boots that she'd been wearing a couple of hours ago. Then, slipping the keycard into the terry-cloth pocket of her robe, she shuffled out the door.

The lodge's lobby was blessedly empty, and Monica closed her eyes in relief as the cool air soothed the burning color from her cheeks. The light from one of the outdoor lights fell on the fallen snow, making it glow softly. Drifting over to a window, Monica looked out over the winter wonderland. White crystal flakes drifted slowly from the sky, glittering and swirling in the wind. A small smile drifted across Monica's face, transforming it from anxious and tired to peaceful and serene.

Remembering what the receptionist had said about the lounge, Monica decided to go and curl up in front of the fire for a while. She walked through the lobby into the large, window-lined room filled with squashy armchairs and couches, and her attention was drawn to the large fire roaring in the fireplace at the far end. Eagerly she started for it.

But as she approached, she discovered that someone had much the same idea as she had. A man was curled up in one of the chairs, staring blankly into the dancing flames of red and orange. Drawing closer, Monica saw the man's features.

"John?" she asked, her voice roughened by sleep. The man started and turned to look at her.

"Monica?" he asked. Then he smiled. "Couldn't sleep, huh?"

"Nope," Monica said, sitting on a nearby couch and putting her hands out to warm before the fire. "Hotel mattresses are always so uncomfortable—I can never sleep on them," she lied.

"Yeah, me too," John said, staring back into the fire. "I figured that if I walked around a little bit, then I would be able to get to sleep better—but it hasn't helped yet."

The two fell into comfortable silence. Monica found her attention drawn to the window and the white flakes floating gently down just beyond. It looked so serene, so inviting, and she was overcome with a sudden urge to go outside and run through the snow to see if she could absorb the calmness into her soul.

"John?" she asked. "I'm going to step outside for a minute. Do you want to come with me?"

The man stared at her as if she were crazy. "Are you kiddin', Mon?" he demanded. "It's got to be ten degrees out there!"

"I know," Monica said, somewhat impatiently. "I just want to go outside for a bit. You don't have to come if you're too scared of the cold."

John snorted. "If you're intent on freezin' yourself, then I'd better come, just to make sure that someone's ready to carry you back inside when you turn into a Popsicle. Come on." He stood and extended a hand to Monica almost unconsciously. The motion surprised both of them—Monica stared at it as though it was some kind of alien artifact that had materialized unexpectedly before her nose, and John mentally banged his head against a wall. _Stupid bastard!_ He thought, tucking the offending appendage into the pocket of his coat, which he was using in lieu of a robe. _Do you want to make a fool of yourself?_ He followed Monica out the front doors and they stopped on the covered patio area.

"It doesn't seem cold," Monica whispered, taking in the snowy landscape. "It's too beautiful."

"Uh-huh," murmured John, but his eyes were not his surroundings. Instead, he was marveling at the way the moonlight softly lit his partner's features and how her eyes seemed so dark and so radiant at the same time. It wasn't fair how she had the unconscious ability to make him feel about 15 year old. It wasn't fair how she made his heart squeeze every time she smiled at him. It wasn't fair how she was looking at him now, with a child-like grin on her face and obvious joy in her eyes.

"Come on!" she laughed, running out into the snow. The wind had died down, and the only snow that fell onto her cheeks was from the clouds above, lining her hair and eyelashes with white powder. John chuckled and jogged out to her.

He was surprised by a snowball to the chest. Growling, he dusted the snow off of his coat and looked up at Monica with fake anger in his anger. "You're goin' to pay for that, Agent Reyes!" he yelled, scooping snow off the ground and packing it into a ball. Monica shrieked, laughing, and dodged John's snowball, preparing a missile of her own. Sticking her tongue out at him, she took off across the snow.

"Get over here!" John laughed, running after her, a new snowball in his hand. Catching up, he grabbed her around her waist, sending both of them tumbling to the ground, Monica on top of John.

The laughter abruptly fled as their eyes met, sparks jumping between them, spurred by their proximity. The snowball rolled out of Monica's hand and her heart sped up. She felt like she was drowning in her partner's eyes, and she was content to remain there forever. Slowly—very slowly—John wrapped his arms around Monica, pulling her nearer. Their lips drew closer and closer…and connected.

The kiss, innocent and tentative at first, grew more and more passionate as years of wanting and waiting finally released. Monica dug her hands into John's messy hair, not wanting him to pull back until she was ready for him to. John, for much the same reason, tightened his hold on Monica's waist.

An indeterminable amount of time passed. Finally, John pulled back slightly. "Monica…" he said, running an cold finger down her cheek. "You…you're so beautiful." Monica smiled softly at him, running her hands across his chest in a way that made him shiver. "And you must be getting so cold right now."

Monica shook her head. "There's no way that I'll get cold when you're with me, John."

**Fluff fluff fluff. I love it. And if _you_ love it, well then, why not leave a review? Because it would make me happy, that's way. And then I might write more DRR.**


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